One Less Amnesiac
by RumbleintheDumbles
Summary: Instead of a second long-coated tactician with no memory, the Shepards got Morgan, Lucina's tactician from the future who recalled her battles against the Risen just as clearly as the others. As such, many things changed.


**A/N: I've often thought about this idea, and I've finally decided to try and put it to paper. Or, well, you know. Probably a teensy bit more serious than my usual fare, so consider this a flexing of the metaphorical writing muscles. Also, I naturally don't own Fire Emblem.**

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The battle had been hard-fought. One of the most difficult yet. The strategies of the enemy were certainly commendable, and casualties had been severe - but ultimately, as these things tended to happen, a decisive gamble had won him the day.

"And I believe that's game," Robin said conclusively as he moved his last piece into place on the board.

"Eh?" His opponent's eyes went wide, scanning over the board and the position of every piece in an attempt to find a way out of the trap she had found herself in.

She would find none. He had made sure of it.

After a moment, she realised it to. "You're right," Morgan muttered, "You win, Dad."

If you had told him two years ago that he would be playing tactical simulations on a board with his teenage daughter who had travelled backwards in time from a doomed future, Robin would have laughed rather hard. Now, it almost seemed normal.

He was still struggling to adjust to the idea of being a father, of all things. There was no denying the connection he felt - the bond that he had with this teenage girl who by all accounts should have been basically a stranger to him but had so quickly wormed her way into his heart with her sunny, happy-go-lucky disposition, her hair just like her mothers, and her general eagerness to experience life in the past with him. A good example of this connection would have been the twinge of emotion that he felt when Morgan suddenly looked despondent, a lethal cocktail of worry, concern, and fury against the entire world for _daring_ to put such a sorry expression on her face.

"Hey," he spoke up in concern, "What's wrong, Morgan? You did extremely well that time, it was certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

"But I lost," she frowned, "The same way I lost the time before that, and the time before that. Which goes to show what I already guessed way before I ever even met you in this time," she looked down, "You're better than me."

"I have more experience," Robin defended her, "I think," he added quickly, his utter lack of knowledge as to what his life involved prior to meeting Chrom biting him here, "I may be younger than I would have been in your time, but I'm still older than you are now. Give it a few years and you'll be even better than I am."

"If you say so," she said despondently.

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay... what's wrong? This seems like it's something a bit deeper than simply wanting to get one over on your old man."

"You're not old yet," she shot back weakly, before she sighed, "Back in the future, I was our tactician and strategist, both for our group and for all the people we were looking after or travelling as a whole. Sort of like what you do for Chrom, the Shepards and the Army now, but for Lucina and... whatever you'd call the rest of us."

He nodded, waving for her to continue.

"Sometimes, I had to make some really rough decisions."

"Like what?"

"Like deciding that one person or one bunch of people had to die so that another bunch of people would stay alive," she said tightly, "Either because there were less of them, or because they were less _important_. Like making a tactical choice that won us the battle but got some of our people killed. Like deciding that we couldn't try to save someone from the Risen because we just didn't have the ability to do it without losing too many of our own people."

Robin felt his blood run cold. "Oh."

"It didn't happen all the time," she admitted, "But it happened. And each time it did, or each time we lost someone in a battle, I couldn't help but ask myself, you know? 'What would Dad have done? Would Dad have found a better way? Would he have kept everyone alive?' So when I got the chance to meet you again, I had to see how I compared to you. If I could honestly say that nobody could have done a better job than I did. And now I know," she smiled sadly, "You're way better than me. Lucina, our other friends, and all everyone else in the future... they would have been better off with _you_ , rather than your failure of a daughter who just can't measure up."

He stared at her for a moment, feeling his heart break into so many pieces that all the craftsmen in Yllise wouldn't have been able to put it back together. Up to this point, he had, at best, a vague idea of how bad the future was for their children, but to hear it from his own daughter that she was struggling with such a burden? That she was forced to take people's lives into her own hands and balance them against each other, all while constantly second-guessing herself against the ideal of him that she had built up in her head?

He came to a decision. "Did I ever tell you about the battle where we lost Exalt Emmeryn?"

She blinked, surprised at the seemingly sudden change of subject. "I don't think so."

"I had a plan to rescue her. We went in from the front, distracted the Plegian's forces directly, and then at the crucial moment where all of Plegia's military assets were tied up, Philia and her Pegasus Knights who we held in reserve would swoop in and rescue Emmeryn. It was simple, it was foolproof, if we all played our parts correctly, I was sure it couldn't possibly fail."

"So what happened?" She leaned forward, interest momentarily overcoming depression.

"Everything went according to plan," he recalled, "Until the crucial moment, when the Pegasus Knights made their move, and suddenly, King Gangrel's sorcerer summoned a force of Risen armed with bows, which then shot them all out of the sky. The entire plan was ruined and we were left completely unable to do anything but watch as Emmeryn was forced to sacrifice her own life. For days, even weeks afterward, I went over my plan, over and over again, to see if there was anything I could have done that would have prevented that result, and you know what I decided?"

He leaned back in his seat, reminiscing sadly. "There was nothing I could have done with the knowledge and resources I had available to me at the time. I couldn't have predicted that they would do what they did as I had no reason beforehand to think they had that capability, and the fact that they could raise a force of archers at will in such a manner stopped any possible contingencies I could have come up with. It was an unwinnable scenario."

He saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "You understand why I'm telling you this, don't you? It's because there are some battles that even the best tactician in the world can not possibly win. And frankly, the situation you were in in the future? That was one giant unwinnable scenario. I don't think I could have done any better than you did - in fact," he smiled sombrely, "If anything, you were only put in that situation because of the failure of our generation to stop Grima to begin with, me included."

"But if I can't do it, and you can't do it either, then how do we win?" she asked in a small voice.

"We win," he explained gently, "Because we aren't taking this on alone any more, are we? It might be too much for you, and it might be too much for me as well, but personally? I think there's nothing in this world that can withstand the two of us working together."

She looked thoughtful. "Yeah... yeah, that makes sense," she brightened, "Robin and Morgan, unstoppable tactician duo! I like the sound of that."

"Me too," he agreed, "And Morgan?"

"Yes, Dad?"

"You'll never be a failure to me. Never forget that."

She gave a watery smile. "Thanks, Dad."

"Now, what do you say to one more game? After all, we've got to keep each other on our toes if we're going to send that dragon packing! Hand me those pieces..."

As his now-smiling daughter eagerly started setting up the little carved pieces of wood on her side of the table, he decided that maybe, just maybe, being a father wasn't going to be as difficult as he first thought.

And even if it was, it would be worth it regardless.


End file.
